Pockson
by Madame Xela
Summary: Don't ask about the title. I promised to post this and here it is after it has been sitting on my laptop for almost two months ! Disclaimer, summary and warnings inside. Rated M for language and future content.
1. A Study In Pink I

Summary: When Harry needed help the most, Sherlock was there to offer him a safe(ish) home and so much more. Things get very stressful between the men as baby Teddy is placed in their care. Perhaps John can be the peacekeeper between them…crappy summary is crap.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter. I wish I did, that would be a beautiful thing.

Warnings: Slash, Mpreg (honestly, when do my stories not have Mpreg in them?) with mentions of past Mpreg, Preg, Threesomes, mentions of abortion, AU set after the Deathly Hallows and at the beginning of Sherlock, John is a muggleborn wizard, Sherlock and Mycroft are Purebloods, Dumbledore bashing, Teddy is still Remus and Tonks' son, OOC (though I will do my best to keep them in character as often as I can), John is in denial about his sexuality, and Sherlock and Harry's relationship is…interesting.

Pairings: Sherlock/John/Harry (Pockson!), Mystrade, Fred/George/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Blaise, Luna/Charlie

To say that John Watson was surprised when he first entered 221B Baker Street for the first time would be an understatement. There were papers, baby necessities (i.e. nappies, bottles, clothes), and…were those human body parts?

Yes, John Watson's first impression of 221B was that a family of clinically insane people lived there.

However, all of that changed when Mrs. Hudson walked into the room. The kind woman gave him a smile, instantly calming him.

"Oh Sherlock, the mess you've made!" She said while walking into the kitchen.

Sherlock made some sort of reply, not that John had heard him. He was busy staring at the young man who was standing in the doorway. He was short (maybe about an inch or two shorter than John), with shoulder length black hair pulled back by a green ribbon, pale skin, thin frame, and wide, green eyes. His pink lips stretched into a lovely smile (which certainly did _not_ make John's breath catch. He was straight thank you very much!) when their eyes connected. He walked up to John and extended his hand, careful not to drop the spit-up stained cloth that was draped over his shoulder.

John clasped his hand and introduced himself. "Ah, hello. John Watson."

The man smiled a bit brighter. "Oh yes, Doctor Watson. Sherlock did say that you would be coming by today. I'm Harry Potter. Sorry I didn't meet you at the door but my son Teddy needed to be put down for a rest. And…oh…" The man-Harry Potter!-trailed off and started to look uncomfortable. It may have been because John's eyes had nearly bugged out of his head, in fact, John thought that it probably was the reason.

Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding world, was living in 221B with Sherlock Holmes! John had heard all about Harry Potter, being a muggleborn wizard. He had pitied the poor boy from the start. Nothing had gone right for him. He hadn't believed a word that that crap newspaper _The Daily Prophet_. John had been more than willing to fight in the Wizarding War, but Afghanistan needed him more. All of those poor muggles who were dying because they weren't given the best care that they could get. Not that John was being conceited or anything but his level of expertise was a lot higher than most. He didn't use spells, just small doses of potions that worked wonders. There were more than enough qualified Med-Wizards running about Britain for the war.

Because of his drifting thoughts, he almost missed the scowl that showed up on Harry's face. "Sherlock Holmes, what the hell have I told you about keeping the house clean when expecting guests?" Harry hissed.

Sherlock shrugged. "You tell me lots of things, but have I ever been known to listen?" It was more of a statement really, since Sherlock was busy wandering the flat, looking at all of his belongings.

Harry rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wrist, the garbage and the papers and Teddy's things were flying about, getting into their rightful places.

"Don't mess up my experiments Harry."

"Had you put them somewhere safer earlier this wouldn't be happening. I told you yesterday to clean up."

"And I did. I also told you that these were important experiments."

The argument dropped. John was amazed at how they acted towards each other. Sherlock gave off the impression that he was a hard man to get along with. Surprise right? What with all of the crazy shit everywhere that just screamed 'mad scientist'. One look at Harry Potter and John's mind listed several medical problems with him. PTSD, Malnutrition, possible (more than likely, given the few scars that he could see peeking out from under his shirt) abuse, slight trust issues (if John's reaction to his name was anything to go by), and overall exhaustion. There couldn't be a stranger mix anywhere.

John sat himself down on one of the chairs and watched as the room cleaned itself. "So, I looked you up last night. The –ah- Science of Deduction was it?" Harry and Sherlock stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Harry, he noted, looked mildly amused while Sherlock looked curious.

"And what did you think?" Sherlock asked. John gave a disbelieving look.

"You said you can tell a software designer by his tie."

"Yes. It's simple really. I could read you military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits from your mobile phone. "

"How?"

Sherlock stared at the doctor with a slight smirk on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted.

"Sherlock, don't overload the man." Harry chuckled. It was normal for people to doubt Sherlock's abilities when it came to deduction, then Sherlock would prove to them that he was in fact accurate and then he would be yelled at and things turned for the worst. Harry didn't want there to any bad blood between Sherlock and their new flatmate. "Trust me, Dr. Watson –"

"Call me John, please."

"Trust me John when I tell you that everything this man says is true. If it wasn't for him, well, the war wouldn't be over." John's eyes widen marginally at that. He hadn't known that Sherlock Holmes had a part to play in the ending of the war. It wasn't in any books, or papers; in fact the only thing that was known about the end of the war was that Voldemort was destroyed by Harry. "He can give you a demonstration later, but right now is not the time."

The three were silent until Mrs. Hudson came in, newspaper in hand. "What do you think of these suicides Sherlock? Thought it'd be right up your alley. Three exactly the same-" Sherlock looked at something down on the street from the window.

"-Four."

"What?"

"There's been a fourth."

They didn't wait for him to elaborate because they heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. Greg Lestrade looked out of breath and anxious as he walked through the doorway.

"Where?" Sherlock asked.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's different about this one?"

"This one left a note." Sherlock looked unimpressed while the D.I. was there. Harry and Mrs. Hudson exchanged nervous glances. "Will you come?"

Sherlock thought it over. "Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson." John was very curious at the two groans the names received.

"He doesn't work well with me." Sherlock pointed out, looking a bit more than aggravated.

It was decided, though, that Sherlock would go to the crime scene. Lestrade bid the other three goodbye before he ran back downstairs. Sherlock stood still, watching the man leave. He made no movements until the door clicked shut. John wasn't sure what scared him more: the abrupt attitude change or the fact that the man was so excited over a serial suicide.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock yelled as he jumped in the air. He danced around the room, taking Harry with him and spinning him in circles, as he chatted away. "Four suicides and now a note! Ah! It's Christmas!" They stopped dancing, much to the amusement of the smaller man, and Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss to Harry's lips. He grabbed his coat and made his way to the door. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. I might need some food."

"I'm your Landlady dear, not your housekeeper." Harry assured her with a smile that he would take care of it if Sherlock needed food. Sherlock ignored them and continued talking.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" With that, the consulting detective was gone.

John was confused. What just happened?

"Look at him," Mrs. Hudson said. "Dashing about. My husband was just the same. But, you're more the sitting down type, I can tell." Harry chuckled at the comment. John shifted awkwardly. "I'll make you that cuppa, you just rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" The outburst caused Mrs. Hudson to jump and Harry to flinch. Regret flashed through John and he apologized.

"Don't worry about." Harry told him with a smile. Mrs. Hudson went back to getting the tea. Harry sat in the seat across from John, quietly observing him. John fidgeted and grabbed the newspaper to distract himself from those green eyes.

"So, um, how do you know Sherlock?" He asked without looking up. The front page of the paper was rather interesting, it described the suicides that had been going on, but what had John's attention the most was the picture of the man. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade, the same man that had just left moments ago. What did the DI need Sherlock Holmes for?

"We're engaged, unofficially." John's head snapped up. Engaged?

"Oh, seriously?"

Harry laughed. "Why does everybody ask me that? Yes I'm serious. Sherlock and I have a special relationship, most people wouldn't understand…" He trailed off. The fondness of his tone made John stop and think. Sherlock Holmes must not be as crazy as he originally thought.

"When did you meet."

There was a smile on the young man's face, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid, John that that is a story for another time. For now, I think Sherlock would like to ask you something." Harry pointed to the doorway where Sherlock was watching the two with a calculating look.

"You're a doctor." He said to John. "Yes, you're an army doctor."

John used his cane to push himself up. "Yes."

"Any good." John could swear that he heard Harry mumble something around the lines of 'like you don't already have an answer to that'.

"Very good." The words were stressed, showing that John was well aware of his medical skills.

Looking off into the distance, Sherlock slowly walked into the room and continued talking. "Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths." Sherlock was right in front of the doctor, staring at him in a way that made John slightly nervous.

"Um, yes. I've seen enough to last me a life time."

"Want to see some more?"

John didn't even hesitate. "Oh god yes." Both Harry and Sherlock chuckled at John's eagerness.

Sherlock glanced in Harry's direction and sent him a small wave. "Sorry Harry, I'd ask you to come but I know that you're _terribly_ busy taking care of Theodore." The man said in a mock-upset tone. For a moment John was worried that he had accidentally caused a fight between the two.

"Stop it Sherlock. You're acting like a baby. Teddy's…_sick_. You know that I would be out there in a heartbeat if I could. Teddy will be fine tomorrow so the next time you want me to I can go running off with you to find a murderer. Take John and please try not to hex Anderson." Harry growled. Without so much as a 'see you later' he got up and walked out of the room.

Oh…perhaps there was a bit of tension between the two men.

**A/N:**

**I was going to continue the chapter, but I don't have the patience right now. Sorry. **


	2. A Study In Pink II

**I'm going to change a few of the warnings from last chapter.**

Warnings: Slash, Mpreg (honestly, when do my stories have Mpreg in them?) with mentions of past Mpreg, Preg, Threesomes, mentions of forced abortion, mentions of past abuse, Drug abuse, under age sex (14), AU set after the Deathly Hallows and at the beginning of Sherlock, John is a muggleborn wizard, Sherlock and Mycroft are Purebloods, Dumbledore and mild Ginny bashing, Teddy is still Remus and Tonks' son, OOC (though I will do my best to keep them in character as often as I can), Sherlock being Sherlock, John is in denial about his sexuality, and Sherlock and Harry's relationship is…interesting.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter. I wish I did, that would be a beautiful thing.

Side note/disclaimer, I am using some of the actual dialog from the show, so if you see those you'll understand that they are not mine.

When John and Sherlock left the flat, Harry rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He let out a frustrated sigh. Why was Sherlock being so difficult with the Teddy situation? It wasn't like the man was unfamiliar with taking in strays…so what made Teddy different? Was it because he's a baby or…

A piercing wail disrupted Harry from his thoughts. With a promise to have a _very_ long conversation with Sherlock later, Harry left to go soothe his godson.

John sat next to Sherlock in the back of the cab. Sherlock spent most of the time on his phone, every once in a while John noticed that he sent a text or received one from Harry. The rest of the time John had absolutely no idea what the man was doing.

John was confused. There was no other way to put it. All he had planned to do today was to go look at the flat. How the hell did that turn into going to a suicide crime scene with a man that he had only known for a day?

Seeing the look on the doctor's face, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Alright, you've got questions."

"Yeah." John said. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?" The response was short and to the point making John fight back the urge to roll his eyes.

"Who are you, what do you do?" He was curious. This man was unlike anyone that John had ever met before. He was…unnerving to say the least.

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective…"

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smirked.

"I'm a Consulting Detective…The only one in the world. I invented the job."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that when the police are out of their depth-which is always-they consult me." The tall man explained.

John had to stop himself from laughing. "The police don't consult amateurs." This was ridiculous, the man was insane. Yes, he was insane, and John was in the back of a cab with him. Great.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. The smile on John's face disappeared. "When I met you for the first time yesterday I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised." Sherlock wasn't looking at John anymore, but rather out the window.

"Yes, how _did_ you know?"

"I didn't know, I noticed. Your hair cut, the way you hold yourself says military. The connotation you used when you entered the room says you trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist, you've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair and you stand like you've forgotten about it. So it's at least partly psychosomatic that says that the original circumstances would traumatic, wounded in action. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock finished his little monologue by putting emphasis on the 'q' in Iraq.

To say that John was amazed would be an understatement. He was baffled and surprised and his head was reeling at the information that had just been thrown at him. How on earth could one person think like this? He had never met anyone this…observant. It was definitely different.

Pretending like he was not in awe of the man he continued in a composed voice. "You said I had a therapist." He pointed out.

"With a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist." Sherlock paused. "Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. If you're looking for a flat-share you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then. Scratches, not one, but many other times it's been in the same pocket as keys and coins, but you wouldn't treat a luxury item like this so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy, you know it already."

"The engraving."

"Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. _Could_ be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you would turn to extended family, certainly not one you're not close to. Now Clara, who is Clara? Three guesses say a romantic attachment. The expensive phone says 'wife' not 'girlfriend'. Looks like it's been bought recently, this model is only six months old, marriage in trouble then. Six months old and he's just giving it away? If she left him, he would have kept it-people do, sentiment-no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left _her_. He gave the phone to you, that says that he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How could you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked skeptically, making Sherlock smirk.

"Shot in the dark-good one though. Power connection I tell you, the scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them. There you go, see you were right."

"I was right?" John asked incredulously. "Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock paused and looked down at his phone. He had just received another text.

**From: Harry**

**Message: No Sherlock. Stop acting like a child. I will not leave Mrs. Hudson with Teddy tonight. He's too young to take Wolfsbane and Draco says that it wouldn't do any good for him anyways. Maybe if you actually decided to do something nice and help Draco look into it you two could create a potion for him.**

"That…was amazing." Sherlock blinked and looked over at John.

"You think so?"

"Of course it was. Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what most people normally say."

"And what do people normally say?"

"Piss off." The two laughed. When their laughter died down, John bit his lip. He wanted to ask one more question. But he wasn't sure if it was too obtrusive or not. "Go ahead and ask it." Sherlock said. Though how the paler man knew that John had another question…well John felt that he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"What…what did Harry say when you first met him?" The question was quiet, like John was nervous about stepping over the line-which he was, nervous I mean.

A fond smile, soft and barely there, crept onto Sherlock's face. "He said 'thank you'."

_A small child who looked about eleven years old-but in reality was thirteen- curled into himself as he hid-well, tried to anyways, but Sherlock could still see him- behind a dumpster. He had his school trunk-Hogwarts-and a large cage that contained a very beautiful snowy white owl surrounding him in a way that created a crude barrier from the few people that were walking on the sidewalk. _

_From the trunk and the owl alone Sherlock deduced that the boy was a student. Probably not a wealthy one if the ratty, ten times too large and disgustingly filthy clothing that he was wearing was anything to go by. Another thing that Sherlock noticed about the boy was that he was a runaway, not that it was hard to notice. There were bruises and scars on the boy's arms, face and…well anywhere that Sherlock could see really. So the abuse had been going on for a long period of time. _

_So the child was a runaway and a wizard. The fact that he had a trunk suggested that he had been to Diagon Alley, so he had to know about the Leaky Cauldron. Tom was notorious for taking in runaways, allowing them room and board in return for doing a few chores here and there. So the boy was a runaway, but he was staying away from the magical community…use of under-aged magic and afraid of getting caught. But the ministry would have found him already, so the boy had no idea that he wasn't in trouble. Muggleborn? Perhaps muggle-raised…_

_Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sighing, Sherlock grabbed his coat and his old Slytherin house scarf and headed across the street. Absently, he cursed his soft, Gryffindor like heart. _

_As he approached the boy, Sherlock noticed a few more things. Long, matted black hair, dirt caked on his skin, calluses on his hands, bags under his eyes (which, Sherlock noted, were a very uncommon and vivid shade of green), filthy glasses, extremely thin limbs…malnourishment, the boy hadn't bathed, eaten or slept properly in days. _

_Sherlock stopped in front of the boy and waited for him to look up. _

_The boy didn't. But he flinched and curled into himself further. "I-Is there something that I can help you with, sir?" his voice was soft and hoarse; he hadn't had enough water to drink then. _

"_Up. I'm taking you to my flat." Sherlock commanded. Honestly, it was a perfectly innocent request, well to Sherlock at least. _

_Apparently, the boy didn't think so, for looked up in alarm. His green eyes were wide with fear and his mouth fell open in an 'O' shape. "W-What?" A lightning bolt scar peaked out from under the boy's dark hair. Harry Potter? Sherlock could easily say that he had not seen this one coming. This was one of the few times in his life (he could count every time on one hand) where the genius could (but wouldn't) say that he was surprised. _

_Sherlock rolled his eyes, not outwardly showing the surprise that he felt on the inside. "Oh please, I'm not going to force myself on you. I'm not that cruel."_

"_Then why-?"_

"_-There's a rather large storm coming this way. Clearly you have not been keeping up with the news while you've been on the run." Sherlock ignored the boy's astonished look. "You haven't had a bath, a decent meal and a full night's rest in what seems to be days…possibly a week, so it would be beneficial for you to come with me if only for your health. And furthermore, there is a 'dangerous' criminal on the loose, possibly out to get you though most likely not for the reasons you might think Mr. Potter. Now I repeat myself, get up so we can go to my flat before it starts raining."_

_The boy-Harry-looked at Sherlock suspiciously. "Oh really…and how do I know that you aren't doing this just because I'm Harry Potter?" Ah self conscious about his fame. Interesting. He has the glory, but does not want it. He probably only found out about it recently-if he was muggle raised, which was becoming more glaringly obvious as time went by._

"_I did not know that it was you, Mr. Potter, until you looked up at me and I saw the scar on your forehead." Sherlock replied honestly. _

_But Harry was still not convinced. "How do I know that you are not a bad guy?" _

"_Oh please, would a bad guy invite you into his home and offer to feed you?" Inwardly, the older wizard was a tad proud that the boy had a decently strong sense of self preservation. Too bad it was masked by his Gryffindor stubbornness. _

"_Yes." Sherlock growled at said stubbornness. He was three and a half seconds away from just stunning the boy and carrying him into his flat when more thunder rumbled, this time louder and much closer. Harry stiffened and looked up at Sherlock (the man absently noting Harry's apprehension towards the thunder). "Fine…I'll go with you…if only to stay out of the storm." Had the boy not heard Sherlock say that there was a dangerous criminal out to get him? Forget what Sherlock said about the self preservation. Clearly the boy was just foolish. _

_Sherlock grinned, please that he could finally go inside-it was getting too windy and Sherlock felt drops of rain beginning to fall. _

_They made it into the flat-it was nothing special…it was tiny and messy and the neighbors could be heard capitulating through the walls-mere moments before the rain started coming down harder. For a brief moment, Sherlock questioned his decision to bring the boy into his flat. There was barely enough room for Sherlock and his experiments, adding another person…well Sherlock shook that thought out of his head. He wasn't even sure if the kid would stay for more than a day._

"_There is a bathroom next to the kitchen. Go take a shower. I will get you some clothes and I'll make you soup." Harry nodded and scurried off. _

_The first thing that Sherlock did was let the bird out of its cage, spelled it clean, and filled its bowls with fresh water and food. He moved the cage next to his own owl's-Johann-empty one near the window. Then Sherlock went into his room and pulled out a dark, long sleeved shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, shrunk them, and sent them into the bathroom with a flick of his wand (the resounding shout that was heard made Sherlock chuckle). Finally the man grabbed his mobile phone and went into the kitchen. _

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: I need your help. –SH**_

_He dug through all of his cabinets, searching for a can of chicken and rice soup-he knew that it was in there, Mycroft sent over a dozen cans earlier in the week-and a pot to cook it in. He found his stash of soup, the cans were hiding in the back, as far away from Sherlock as possible (the man remembered that he had purposely placed them there so that way he wouldn't have to look at them, Mycroft _was_ the one to send the soup over after all). The pot…well there was some rather questionable substances stuck to the bottom of it and Sherlock spent a good five or so minutes cleaning it before he started cooking. _

_And, let it be known that Sherlock Holmes should _**never**_ be allowed to cook. The man was many things, he was great with potions and chemicals, he had an astounding intellect, he was fantastic with his spell work, and he was a beautiful violinist, but a chef-not even a good one-he was not. _

_So, it should come to no surprise that when Mycroft replied, Sherlock was far more interested in that than the food (which in itself is saying something since Sherlock would rather walk into a herd of angry Hippogriffs than speak to his brother). _

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: With what? You didn't get yourself into any trouble did you? –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: No, but I picked up a stray and I thought that you would like to know. Does the name Harry Potter ring any bells brother dearest? –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Dear Merlin, you didn't kidnap the boy did you? Sherlock I think we need to talk about what you consider an extracurricular activity. –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Relax, I didn't kidnap the precious 'Savior'. –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Then how on earth did he get into your flat? –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: I found him in the alley across the street. He ran away from his home about a week ago. I suspect that he was abused. –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: And he just told you this?-MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: No, the bruises and the scars did. –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: This is not the time for sarcasm brother dear. –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Ah, but the thing is, I wasn't being sarcastic. The boy is littered in scars and bruises. This has probably been going on for years. Who has he been placed with? –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Dear Merlin…No one knows whose custody he was placed in. But I can tell you who is behind it. –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Let me guess…Dumbledore. –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Spot on as always. What can I do? I have no idea where the boy has been so I can't send the Aurors after them, and even if I did, it would alert Dumbledore and you know that he would get involved. –MH**_

_**To: Mycroft**_

_**Message: I think that he was staying with Muggles. And if that's the case, just send your little plaything after them. –SH**_

_**From: Mycroft**_

_**Message: Well, that would make things easier…I will talk to Lestrade about it… -MH**_

_Sherlock was about to reply, but the scent of smoke prevented him from doing so. He placed the phone down and pulled the pot off of the stove. Apparently, he had put the temperature too high and so the soup bubbled over. There was barely anything left in the pot and what was left was stuck to both the inside and the outside. _

_He had to clean it all over again. Tedious. _

_Harry came out of the bathroom, Sherlock was frustrated to find that he was wrong in his estimates of the boy's size as the clothes were still slightly big (there was always something that he overlooked!), and inhaled deeply. "Thank you…for the clothes and the shower and I hope that you don't take this the wrong way, but what's burning?" Harry asked softly. _

"_Nothing at the moment," Sherlock said grumpily. "But there was a pot of soup a few moments ago that was attempting to make my stove catch on fire." He glared at the boy when he let out a laugh._

"_Ah, s-sorry. Would you like me too cook?" _

_Sighing, Sherlock placed the pot back on the stove and wandered into the living room (which was really a part of the kitchen) to reply to Mycroft's text. "If you must."_

_In less than ten minutes, Harry had two steaming bowls of soup in his hands. He placed on the small table in front of Sherlock and sat down on the other side of the couch to eat his own-Sherlock noted that his own portion was far larger than Harry's._

"_Oh, you cleaned Hedwig's cage…thank you. You didn't have to do that." Harry explained, there was a flush to his cheeks and Sherlock wasn't quite sure if he was embarrassed or grateful. _

_Another rumble of thunder was heard; Sherlock filed Harry's flinch away in his mind palace as another piece of the puzzle that was Harry Potter. "It was no trouble. I have an owl myself-he's out right now-and he absolutely detests it when his cage gets too dirty."_

"_So you're a w…"_

"_A wizard? Yes I am. Sherlock Holmes, of the Great and Noble house of Holmes." He and Harry smiled at the ridiculous title. But then Harry's smile morphed into a frown. Interesting._

"_So…you're a pureblood?" Sherlock nodded. Harry's body stiffened slightly, so the boy had bad experiences with purebloods? He did vaguely recall his cousins Lucius and Draco ranting about the boy…oh dear, what had they done?_

"_I'm assuming from your body language that you are not fond of purebloods, most likely Lucius and Draco's doing."_

"_How did you-?"_

"_You're stiff, like you're expecting me to blow up or hex you-which I am not. Too many muggles around for that-I'm joking don't look so serious. Anyway, how did I know about Lucius and Draco? Simple, they are-unfortunately-my cousins on my mother's side. I heard about what happened last year-are you really a parselmouth? Can you give me a demonstration?-from their obnoxious rants about you. I am thoroughly convinced that Draco is only jealous though, he said that you declined his hand in friendship-not that I'm surprised, he does act like a brat, and Lucius is only looking out for his son. I'm not defending them, just merely pointing out facts so stop looking at me that way. I will attempt to be as pleasant as possible as your health is my top priority at the moment-by the way, I have several potions that you _will_ be taking once you've finished eating. Don't give me that look. Eat. There's plenty more soup in the cupboards, after that you can go sleep in my room."_

"_But-"_

"_-No buts. Eat. Potions. Sleep. Simple enough?"_

_Harry nodded. A small smile bloomed on his lips. "I…thank you. No one has ever been this kind to me before." _

_Nodding, Sherlock ate a spoonful of his soup. He tried not to look too surprised at Harry's gratefulness, not many people could sit through one of his rants and still be civil with him afterwards, but he knew from the look on Harry's face that he had seen it. Damn. _

_But Harry didn't say anything. He just smiled and finished his bowl of soup. _

John was angry, correction, he was _livid_. Not only had Sherlock left him at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere, but then as he was trying to get home he had been accosted by the man's so called arch enemy. Who even had an arch enemy nowadays anyway? Honestly! The only good thing that came from the debacle was watching the pale man get angry because he was wrong about John having a brother-Harry Watson was short for _Harriet_. That had been rather amusing.

_Then_ Sherlock sends him several texts claiming that there was something dangerous and he needed John's assistance. So, after driving halfway across London-because John couldn't risk apparating with his limp-, John hobbled into 221B only to find that Sherlock wasn't in any danger. In fact, he wasn't even doing anything at all! To say that he was irritated would be an understatement.

Sherlock was lying on the couch with three nicotine patches on his left arm. He claimed that it helped him think. The doctor inside John wanted to scream and rant at the other for being so reckless and moronic. For a genius, the man did some very questionable things.

Vaguely, John noted the soft whimpering of an infant down the hall and Harry's lack of presence in the room. He could hear the younger wizard shushing and humming softly, the poor kid must have been really sick.

"Well?" John asked impatiently. Sherlock was silent. His hands were folded under his chin and his eyes were pressed closed. Suddenly they opened.

"Oh, right. Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"Yeah, I don't like to use mine. There's always a chance that my number will be recognized. It's on the web site." Sherlock spoke.

"Yes but both Mrs. Hudson and Harry have phones." The doctor stated.

"Yeah, but Mrs. Hudson is downstairs and Harry's taking care of the sick child. I tried shouting for you but you didn't hear me."

"I was on the other side of London." John pointed out angrily.

Sherlock waved him off. "Well, there was no hurry." Sherlock told him. Silence settled between the two. For Sherlock it was a blessing for it made it easier and for him to think. For John, it gave him a few moments to regain his composure before he did something stupid like punching the Consulting Detective in the face for making him run about for something so trivial. He closed his brown eyes, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath.

With a clenched jaw, John fished through his pockets until he found his phone. He offered it to Sherlock who merely let it rest on the palm of his hand. John rolled his eyes and went over to the nearest chair and sat on it.

"So… is this about the case?"

"Her suitcase, yes obviously. The murderer took her suitcase, his first big mistake."

"Okay he took her case, so?"

Sherlock mumbled something about risking it and then pointed to the desk, telling John to use the number that was on it to send a text. He then held out John's phone trying to get the man to take it.

"Right…"

Footsteps were heard, and there was a long, tired sigh. "Well, I finally got Teddy to fall asleep and-Oh, hello John." Harry came into the room and gave John a kind smile. The younger man was tired, that much was obvious the poor kid looked like he was going to pass out any second. Feeling bad, John tried offering his chair, but Harry declined with a smile.

"But I'm getting up, you can take the chair." John told him.

"Oh don't worry about it John," Harry smirked, and John felt shivers run down his spine. He had a feeling that that smirk didn't bode well for anyone. "I have a very comfortable seat." With that, he plopped right onto Sherlock's stomach. The taller man groaned as all the air was forced out of him and accidentally dropped John's phone (if that broke, John was not going to be happy). He glared at Harry-which was actually rather scary and that was a lot coming from John- and shoved him enough to make the younger man topple to the side, his head bumping against Sherlock's knees.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to work on a case." Sherlock growled.

Sitting up and rearranging himself so that he was straddling Sherlock's stomach, Harry jabbed a finger into his lover's chest. "Yes, actually I _do_ mind." He hissed. "You and I need to have a talk, Sherlock Holmes."

"Not now. The case-"

"-_Yes now, _Sherlock. You've been putting this off for long enough. I've had it with your childish behavior and-"

John decided that he was just going to ignore the two for now. He didn't want to get in the middle of their lovers' quarrel, so he got up and went to the desk (picking up his poor phone on the way) and punched in the number that Sherlock wanted him to text. The only problem was…he had no idea what the message was supposed to be. He wanted to go hide in a corner somewhere when he realized that he needed to interrupt Sherlock and Harry's argument, he felt so…_shy_ (damn his inner Hufflepuff!).

"What do you-" John will never admit that the end of that sentence was just garbled and unintelligible noises. His face flushed tomato red and he buried his face behind his hands.

There, on the couch, was Sherlock and Harry-still arguing mind you- but Sherlock was-was…_molesting_ the poor kid!

Right _there_!

On the _couch_!

With John still in the room!

Oh sweet Merlin he shouldn't have come back to 221B after the Warehouse incident!

Slowly, he peaked between his fingers (just to see if they were done! Not because he thought that the scene was _arousing_, because he didn't. He wasn't gay! Not that he didn't have a problem with people being gay but-bah, you get the point!) and-OH MERLIN IT GOT WORSE! One of Sherlock's hands was working the top few buttons on Harry's shirt, his slim fingers fluidly undoing each button, and…and…going into it and…well to be honest, John didn't want to think about what the wizard was doing inside the shirt too much. Sherlock's lips were attached to Harry's neck, separating every few seconds either to move to a different spot, or so Sherlock could speak. Harry seemed determined to not give in, even though his face was flushed and his eyes were dilating. So Sherlock decided that he was going to move his other hand from Harry's hip to into…

OH SWEET MERLIN!

NO!

_NO!_

THAT IS NOT OKAY WHILE JOHN IS IN THE ROOM!

Before the situation could get anymore out of hand, John cleared his throat, _loudly. _Harry's head snapped up and he looked positively mortified.

'Well good,' John thought. 'Serves him right!'

"John I am so sorry I-Sherlock, knock it off!" Unfortunately, Sherlock did not what he was previously doing. So poor John had to watch as Harry's neck, much to the kid's humiliation, was attacked by Sherlock's mouth.

John would happily tell anyone who asked that when Harry hit Sherlock with a stinging curse, the man jumped (he would have fallen off of the couch had he not grabbed onto the back of it for support) and let out a rather high pitched squeak.

Finally free, Harry hopped off of the couch and shuffled out of the room. "I'll-uh-leave you guys to it then…" He said before he ran off.

There was silence, thick and incredibly awkward.

"Well?" Sherlock asked. His voice was deep and angry. 'Like he has any right to be angry' John thought.

"What…um…oh! I forgot to tell you that I met a friend of yours earlier."

"What?" Sherlock asked and leveled the doctor with an 'are-you-stupid' stare.

"Well, not a friend, an enemy."

"Oh." Sherlock stopped looking angry and instead became puzzled. "Which one?"

That was not something that John had expected. So he turned to Sherlock and gaped for a moment. "He said he was your arch enemy."

"Hmm, did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes…" John said slowly

"And did you take it?"

"No…" He replied, just as slow as before.

"Bloody Gryffindor. Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

John blinked. "And who is he?"

"The most dangerous man that you've ever met and not my problem right now. The message, John."

"Right…isn't this Jennifer Wilson's number? Wasn't she the dead woman?"

"Yes, but that's not important. Type these words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens I must have blacked out. Twenty two Northumberland Street, Please come." Sherlock spoke slowly so John could get every word for the message.

John was alarmed. His brown eyes shifted from the screen of his phone to the man who was-still-lying on the couch. "Hang on, you blacked out?"

Gray eyes blinked. "What? You-no!" Sherlock shot up and rushed to the other side of the room where he picked up a bright pink suitcase and walked back over to the desk.

Confusion was written over John's face as he pressed send and looked over at Sherlock. The man had said that the killer would have the suitcase, so if Sherlock had it…

"That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

"Yes, obviously." John stared at Sherlock until the dark haired man spoke. "Oh, perhaps I should mention that I didn't kill her."

"I never said that you did."

"Why not? Given the text that I just had you send and the fact that I have her suitcase is a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume that you're the murderer?" John asked. He felt bad now, Sherlock spent so much time helping the police solve crimes (if the events from earlier were anything to go by) only for them to be suspicious of the one person who could get _their_ job done for them. Those…bastards!

"Unfortunately they do." It was Harry who spoke. He had changed into a simple T-shirt that was a few sizes too big for him (most likely Sherlock's) and some old blue sweat pants. His hair was free from the ribbon that had previously kept it tied back, so wavy black strands of hair framed his pale face. He came over, knelt next to the Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"You have to admit that it's amusing."

"Amusing to see people of the law acting like children, yes. Amusing to see you get blamed for something that you didn't do, no." Harry spoke, his green eyes were hard.

"Oh please, Lestrade set them straight."

"But he shouldn't have to." Rolling his eyes fondly, Harry gently kissed his lover. "I'm going to bed Sherlock, I'm exhausted." He kissed Sherlock once more and stood. "You two have fun solving crimes, goodnight boys. And Sherlock, we will be having this conversation tomorrow, whether you like it or not"

"Night." John said politely.

"Mm, I'll be up later." Sherlock pointedly ignored the comment about the conversation, though he had an excited gleam in his gray eyes. Harry smiled and John noticed that there was a slight strain behind it.

"No you won't." With that Harry walked off. John could swear that he could hear him murmur something about cases and lack of sleep and from the clenching of Sherlock's jaw, he could tell that the man had heard it too.

John sat down onto the seat that he was on before. "Well…how did you get the case?"

Sherlock didn't look at John. "I looked."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He'd only keep her case by accident, if it was left in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case with drawing attention to themselves-particularly a man-which is statistically more likely. So obviously…" John listened to the man rant about how the driver dropped off the suitcase and how Sherlock went around searching for it. He was mildly impressed at the man for going to such lengths to find a suitcase. It must have taken him a decent amount of time to find it, even if he claimed that it only took him less than an hour.

"And you got all of that because you realized that the suitcase would be pink?"

"Well it had to be pink, obviously."

"Ah, why didn't I think of that?" John asked sarcastically.

"Because you're an idiot." When John's head snapped up, Sherlock explained himself. "No-no-no, don't look at me like that, practically everyone is. Now, what's missing?"

"From the case? I have no idea."

"Her phone." Sherlock said in an 'it's-obvious-why-can't-you-see-it' tone. "There was no phone on the body, there was no phone in the case we know she had one-that's her number there that you just texted."

"So…why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"

"Lost?"

"Yes or…"

"…the Murderer has it." John realized, finally catching on. "Sorry, but did I just text a serial killer? What good would that do?"

And then to prove him wrong, John's phone went off.

Sherlock got up, explaining why the killer was calling John, and threw on his jacket.

"Wait, so if you won't talk to the police, then why are you talking to me?"

Sherlock made-dare he say-lost puppy dog eyes at the mantle. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?" The blonde man asked. He would never admit that part of him was rather upset at being that stand-in for a skull. Then he had to question why neither Harry nor Sherlock, but capable grown wizards, couldn't summon the skull.

"Oh relax, you're doing fine. Now, are you coming?" Sherlock asked as he tied his purple scarf around his neck.

"Oh you want me to come with you?"

"Yes. I like company when I go out, you're here, Harry's sleeping, and I think better when I talk aloud. A skull would just attract too much attention." Here he smiled at John who-momentarily-smiled back. "Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan said that you get off on this…"

"Yet I said danger and here you are..." Sherlock pointed out. He didn't even wait for John-much to the doctor's annoyance-as he rushed out of the living room. After a moment, though, John realized that he hadn't gone to the front door like he had thought.

Harry was not yet asleep, even though he was close to it. So when the door opened and Sherlock walked in, Harry rolled over to look at him.

"Sorry." The taller man said quietly.

Harry sent him a small smile. "You didn't wake me up." He said softly.

"I know." Sherlock grinned. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Leaning down, Sherlock could smell the mint of Harry's toothpaste. He grinned wider and delivered several soft kisses to the younger man's lips.

"John and I are heading out."

"Do you have your wand?"

"What kind of question is that?"

Harry stared up at Sherlock, green eyes connecting with gray. "I _know_ you Sherlock. You might be a Slytherin but you do some very Gryffindor things. _Especially_ when you have a case."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Sherlock nuzzled his face against Harry's, grin still prominent.

This made Harry sigh. He pushed Sherlock back so they were once again looking at each other. "Just be careful, please."

"Yes _dear_." Sherlock promised with a roll of his eyes and a long kiss against Harry's lips.

The younger man pulled away with a laugh. "Thank you, sweetie pie!" The two laughed uncontrollably as Sherlock poked at Harry's sensitive waist. With another good-bye kiss, Sherlock was out the door leaving Harry all alone in the room.

He knew that he shouldn't worry. Sherlock was a grown wizard, perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and if anything went wrong, he had John who was also a grown wizard. No matter how frustrated he was with Sherlock, that didn't mean that he wanted the man hurt.

With a sigh, Harry rolled back to his previous position and stared at the baby monitor. It was magically enhanced to alert Harry if there was a disturbance in the wards of Teddy's room or if Teddy was fussy. He had expected Teddy to be up all night, like he had the previous full moon, but instead, once he fell asleep, he stayed that way. Not like he was complaining, Harry rather liked having to worry about only one person instead of two. Though, Harry couldn't help himself, he now worried about John as well (so, two people instead of three…this was going to be a _long_ night).

Harry fell asleep trying to convince himself that John and Sherlock would be alright.

**A/N:**

**Yeah…I'm tired. And I have to say that I'm not overly impressed with this chapter. Part of the reason is I was using my laptop's voice recognition software for part of it so there was a lot of frustration there. **

**AN2: I finished this at 12:06 a.m. last night (this morning?), and when I went back to edit it a few hours ago I wanted to cry with how many errors there were. **

**In the Sherlock series we are half way through the first episode…lovely. **

**=]**


	3. A Study in Pink III

_He had been staying with Sherlock for three days before Mycroft showed up. And those two days were quite…interesting to say the least._

_Sherlock was unlike any other person that Harry had ever met. He was blunt, he barely slept, he barely ate, he had spent the day before running about trying to solve a case for his not-friend Lestrade, and there were several times when Sherlock had locked himself away in the bathroom for hours on end._

_Yet, despite that, the two days hadn't been all that bad. When Harry woke up in the middle of the night due to a nightmare, or he had trouble falling asleep, Sherlock would play the violin until he was resting again. Harry was allowed to cook whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and eat as much as he could (Sherlock had taken him to the store to stock up on food, much to the man's displeasure). If Harry asked for help with his schoolwork, the older wizard was there with an answer and a sarcastic remark towards the professor. When Sherlock had a few hours to spare, he had apparrated himself and Harry to__France_ _and he had bought Harry a new wardrobe (with Mycroft's money, of course). And Sherlock had actually let Harry help with some of his experiments, they weren't too dangerous, but there was a scorch mark on the counter that Harry was sure was permanent._

_The best part was that Sherlock never asked about the Dursleys. He never asked about the abuse, or why he ran away, but deep down Harry knew that Sherlock knew. So for Sherlock to hold himself back from asking…it was…refreshing. Wonderful even._

_Then Mycroft showed up…_

_When the man showed up, he knocked three times on the door. It wasn't too loud, but Sherlock knew right away who was at the door and he was not happy._

_"__Oh sweet Merlin no!" Sherlock groaned and pushed his face into the_ _back cushions of the couch, as if he wanted the furniture to swallow him whole. _

_Harry had been doing his summer work on the floor when Mycroft arrived. He looked to the door and then to Sherlock who had made no effort to get up. He bit his lip as he turned his attention back to his essay. Surely the man would answer the door. He just needed a minute. _

_Three knocks later and Sherlock was still sitting as still as possible._

_"__Sherlock, I know you're in there. Open the door." Mycroft called out. _

_After waiting for the older wizard to get up (or show any sign of life really) for almost another four minutes, Harry decided that he need to speak up. "Um…Mr. Sherlock?" _

_"__I told you not to call me that." Came the muffled reply. _

_"__R-right. _Sherlock_, aren't you going to answer the door?"_

_"__No"_

_Green eyes blinked. "No? But-"_

_"__I well aware that there is someone at the door, Harry. But I have neither the intention nor desire to let him in." As if to prove his point, Sherlock rolled over so he was facing the door and sent a nasty glare its way. Had Harry not been concerned for their safety, he would have found the action utterly hilarious._

_"__But…who is it?"_

_Sherlock met Harry's eyes. The teen sucked in a breath at the sheer amount of disgust that was burning in those gray eyes. "H is the most dangerous man that you'll ever meet." He said seriously._

_Ice shot through the boy's veins. The most dangerous man? That didn't mean Voldemort, did it? Voldemort wasn't alive though…right? He was only a spirit; a mockery of the man that he had once been. Much quieter than before, Harry repeated his question. He almost didn't want Sherlock to answer, in case he got the answer that he was dreading._

_"__He's…my brother Mycroft." Needless to say, any fear and apprehension that Harry felt melted away and was replaced by a mixture of annoyance, frustration and relief that was aimed entirely at Sherlock._

_"__Are you kidding me?!" Harry stood up so fast that his essay moved a few feet from where he was working. He rushed to the door, trying to outrun Sherlock who had gotten up (finally) and was chasing Harry yelling at him to 'Stop! You don't know what you're doing! That man is evil! Get back here Harry!'. _

_Crashing into the door, Harry won…barely. The downside to being the first there was that Sherlock was literally a step behind him. The added weight nearly tore the door off of its hinges._

_"__Ow Sherlock!" _

_"__Sherlock? What's going on in there?" Mycroft called from the other side of the door. He sounded indifferent, but there was an undertone of worry that made Harry even more determined to get Mycroft into the flat._

_"__Nothing Mycroft, now go away!" _

_"__Sherlock!" Harry hissed. _

_"__What?!" Sherlock hissed back._

_"__That's your brother!" Sherlock looked unimpressed at the remark._

_"__I am well aware of my familial relation to Mycroft. That doesn't change the fact that he's evil." _

_Harry sighed. He really didn't want to be rude to the man who had been so kind to him (in his own Sherlock-y way), but really! _

_There was a soft tapping at the door. "Sherlock are you alright in there?" Sherlock glared at the faded wood._

_"__Yes Mycroft, now go home." _

_With a huff, Harry decided that he had had enough. Somehow, he managed to wriggle and turn between Sherlock, giving him enough room to open the door a crack and get a peek at Sherlock's brother. "Hello, you must be Mycroft Holmes."_

Sleepy green eyes cracked open.

Harry sat up and groggily wondered what had caused him to wake up. It was still dark out, the baby monitor wasn't going off, Sherlock wasn't in the room, and he did have to use the loo.

So why the hell was he awake?

A heavy knock at the downstairs door answered his question.

Shooting out of bed, Harry threw on his sneakers, tucked his wand into his holster, and ran out of the room.

Harry didn't turn on any lights as he made his way through the flat. In fact, he barely made a sound at all (this he blamed on Sherlock because not only did the man always take Harry with him when he had a case, but Sherlock had been Harry's…well everything during the war, and he had taught Harry 'proper' sneaking techniques). Carefully, he walked over to the window and peeked down at the street. He didn't see any cars, but there was a group of may be a dozen people at the door.

Shit.

He could hear Mrs. Hudson moving downstairs. Before Harry could even move away from the window, she had the door open and was talking softly to whoever was in charge.

When she let out a soft cry, Harry rushed to the stairs. He made it halfway down before he ran into the group of people that were making their way up the stairs.

"Oh my god. Greg! What the fuck?! You scared the hell out of me!" Harry snapped. Greg gave him a small, apologetic grin.

"Sorry, Mate."

Harry relaxed slightly. "Right. Now what are you and your little entourage doing in my home at…what time is it?"

"Quarter to Midnight-"

"What are you doing here at quarter to Midnight?"

Here, Greg got uncomfortable. He shifted under the weight of the younger man's gaze, trying to think of a way to explain the situation to Harry without him snapping.

Fortunately, Anderson decided that he was going to take the issue off of his hands.

"It's a drugs bust." He said gleefully. Harry briefly glanced at Anderson, scowling at him, before he zeroed in on Lestrade.

"A 'drugs bust'" He repeated. He almost growled when he received a slow nod. Why was it today of all days was the day that everything seemed to just work against him. All he wanted was some peace and quiet after dealing with his wailing son all day. Greg knew that Teddy was part Werewolf; he knew that the full moon bothered the infant. So why the hell was he at 221B for a drugs bust in the middle of the night? "Greg…" Harry trailed off, warning in his tone.

"Yeah, I know what you're going to say and-"

"Oh do you? Greg do you know what day today is?"

"Umm." Harry nearly smacked his forehead at the unasked question.

"Okay, Greg, let me rephrase. Teddy is _sick_." That seemed to do the trick. Greg's eyes widen and he looked like he was going to start spewing apologies. "Don't, Greg, just don't." Harry stopped him before he could say anything. "I'm going to talk to Mycroft about this later though. I hope you realize that."

Greg nodded. "I'm really sorry Harry. I forgot, but we can't just leave. All of the paperwork's been filled out and-"

"You won't find anything." Harry told him, interrupting before anything else could be said. He was staring at Lestrade like he was trying to send a telepathic message to him; trying to get through to the muggle that this was the most dangerous and incredibly stupid thing that he had done (which was saying a lot). "If anyone wakes up my son, there will be hell to pay." He said to the group.

"Is that a threat?" Someone-oh great Donovan was here too-hissed.

Harry narrowed his eyes on the woman. "No, it's a promise. Isn't that right Lestrade?"

Poor Greg looked like a deer that got caught in the headlights. He gulped and nodded, never once breaking eye contact with his friend (brother-in-law?). "If that baby wakes up, the idiot who is responsible will be on desk duty for months." He said seriously.

Sighing, Harry led the group up the stairs and into his flat.

Never before had Harry been so grateful for Mycroft's paranoia. He had convinced Sherlock to ward the flat so all of the magical artifacts and magical enhancements wouldn't be seen or would be altered to (certain) muggles. Mrs. Hudson and Greg could still see everything, but Harry didn't have to worry about the rest of the unit seeing things that didn't need to be seen.

Greg immediately sat in Sherlock's chair. Both he and Harry smirked as they both knew how annoyed Sherlock would be, though Harry's smirk was tighter.

"I hope you get your point across, Greg."

"Yeah, well, Sherlock needs to stop withholding evidence from me."

Rolling his eyes, Harry sat across from Greg and waited.

Five minutes and thirty seven seconds was all it took before things started to get worse.

Harry understood that the unit was here for a drugs bust (no matter how much of a farce it seemed) and therefore had to be thorough in their search. But when Harry had noticed that Anderson had been out of sight the _entire_ time, he got worried.

"Greg, I'll be right back." He said as he got up.

"Where are you going?"

Harry smiled slightly. "I'm going to check up on Teddy."

Lestrade sent him off with a wave of his hand. Harry had to restrain himself from running. As much as he wanted to get to his son as quickly as possible, there were a dozen cops who would take the action as a sign that he was hiding something.

He had almost reached the nursery when Teddy started crying. Without thinking, Harry bolted. The nursery door was wide open, Teddy's cries echoing through the hall, and a man's frantic hushes followed.

"Shh, shh! Come on shut up! Please?!" Harry saw red when he heard Anderson's voice.

"ANDERSON!" Stomping into the room, Harry took pleasure in watching the man cower away. He should be afraid! Other than yelling at the idiot, Harry completely ignored him in favor of calming Teddy. The poor baby was crying louder than he had been earlier. His face was already red and splotchy and big tears were pouring down his cheeks. "Oh my little Teddy-Bear, it's okay. Shh, Teddy, I'm right here." He picked up the baby and held him to his chest, gently bouncing him and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

Greg was in the room in seconds, looking furious as he caught Anderson trying to escape. "ANDERSON! What did I say less than ten minutes ago!" He didn't give the man any time to respond. He just sent him out with a growl, telling him that as of tomorrow he was on desk duty for two months. Anderson was out of the room in seconds. Sighing, Greg rubbed a hand down his face. He watched as Harry tried to comfort the screaming baby, and couldn't help the pang of guilt that twisted inside him, telling him that it was his fault that Teddy was suffering. "Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't think that he'd be stupid enough to actually-"

"Greg, look at the mattress. It's messed up. Not from just Teddy sleeping on it. That moron was looking under the mattress while my son was sleeping!"

Anger bubbled in Greg. He had thought that everyone in his team knew better than to disrupt a sleeping child. Clearly he had been wrong. "He will be punished Harry. Two weeks suspension and then two months of desk duty. Minimum." He growled.

Harry sent him a tired smirk. "Wow Greg, that's harsh for you."

"Yeah, well, I have to do something." Greg shrugged. "And it's got to be something worthwhile or Mycroft will make him 'mysteriously' disappear. He's very protective of you three and if anything ever happened to his little nephew…" Greg trailed off, letting the unspoken message linger.

"I'm just glad _one_ of the Holmes brothers accepts Teddy as family." Harry said quietly. Frowning, Greg pulled Harry against his side, offering as much support as he could.

"He'll come around eventually." Harry smiled. Teddy's cries had turned into sleepy whimpers, but his eyes were still wide open and filled with tears. "Come on, let's go and wait for that man of yours to get back."

They walked out of the nursery together, Teddy still clutched in Harry's arms because he no longer felt comfortable leaving Teddy alone while the cops were here. When they passed Harry and Sherlock's room, Greg stopped and then ushered Harry back to the living room, saying that he'd be there shortly.

Harry had been sitting in his seat for less than a minute when he saw a very put out Anderson being followed by a furious Lestrade. "Anderson, stay out here. If you leave my sights again you'll be on desk duty until you retire!" With that, Lestrade collapsed into Sherlock's chair.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Trust me, you don't."

_Harry managed to elbow Sherlock out of the way enough to Let Mycroft slip inside. Mycroft smiled at Harry, much to Sherlock's annoyance, and thanked him._

_"__Ah yes. You must be Mr. Potter. I must say, you are quite different than I expected. After all, not many people can stay with Sherlock for this long and not get irritable." Frowning, Harry took a few steps towards the elder Holmes and all but jabbed him in the chest with his index finger._

_"__That's not very nice, Mr. Mycroft. Sherlock is your brother. You shouldn't suggest that he's a menace to be around. He's been quite the opposite, in fact and-" Hands grasped Harry's shoulders and dragged him backwards until he was flush against Sherlock._

_"__Now now Harry, if Mycroft wants to live in this delusion that I'm a terror to be around, let him. It will certainly make talking with him more entertaining."_

_Mycroft sent the pair a disapproving stare. "Sherlock, you know that that is not what I meant."_

_"__Obviously." A sigh escaped the man's lips. "Why are you here Mycroft?"_

_"__We have a few important matters to discuss." Here, Mycroft sent Harry a meaningful look._

_This was not going to be fun._

Sherlock stormed into the followed closely by John. His eye zeroed in on Lestrade and he all but growled at the inspector. "What are you doing?"

"Well I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid."

John walked over to the chair that Harry was in while Sherlock and Lestrade went back and forth. The poor man looked like he hell and the little baby that he was holding didn't look any better. That must have been Teddy. The kid was actually quite cute, chubby cheeks and limbs, messy tuft of dark hair, wide eyes and-

_Sweet Merlin_!

The kid's eyes _changed color!_

It wasn't an obvious change-blue to emerald green to a dark-ish gray to light brown and back again- to everyone because from where Teddy's eyes were peeking up at John over Harry's shoulder, he was the only one who could see them.

Disbelief and wonder crossed John's face. Harry tiredly smiled up at him, adjusting Teddy so the older wizard could get a better look at the baby.

"His mother was a Metamorphmagus. She passed the gene onto him." He explained, whispering so that no one could hear them. Teddy looked up at John with big, watery, color changing eyes (yes, John will admit that his heart did melt a little. He doubted that anyone could look at this baby and not be affected by him.).

"How do they-"

"-Not see? A few little charms here and there and all the muggles see is a cranky baby with blue-green eyes and messy black hair."

John's eyebrows creased. "That sounds an awful lot like he looks like your biological son. Yours and Sherlock's." The doctor watched as Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip to the point where it looked like it was going to bleed, and takes deep, shaky breaths. Eventually, Harry opened his eyes (they were redder then they had been before) and looked at John.

"I know." He croaked, sounding like he was on the brink of tears.

"-It's a drugs bust!" The two men looked over at Lestrade. He was grinning at Sherlock, receiving a venomous look from the aforementioned man.

John couldn't help it, he chuckled. "Seriously," He asked. "This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?"

Harry stiffened next to him. "Um, John…"

Sherlock stepped over to the other man and looked decidedly uncomfortable. "John…" Sherlock trailed off awkwardly. Lestrade looked between the three of them, smile still in place but slowly dropping, and watched their interaction with barely concealed interest.

"I'm pretty sure that you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything that you would call _recreational_."

"John, you probably want to shut up now." Sherlock glared. From his seat, Harry groaned.

"Yeah but come on…" The doctor turned and looked the younger man in the eyes. Sherlock was still glaring, trying to convey the message that…oh-_Oh_! "No way, you?" Oh yes, somewhere, not too deep inside John was pleased that this man who was insanely brilliant, and very imposing would do something as human and _average_ as recreational drugs.

"Shut up." He turned away and hissed something at Lestrade.

"Oh no, Anderson's my sniffer dog." The mention of the man seemed to put Sherlock into high alert. He grabbed On of Harry shoulders and searched the flat. "What? Anderson! What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered." The tone made Sherlock's jaw clench. Harry muttered something about _'the bastard waking Teddy up'_, and John too was beyond pissed at the arrogant man.

"They all did. They're not-strictly speaking-_on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade said, moving his hands as he explained.

Agent Donovan walked out of the kitchen. "Are these human eyes?" She asked in disgust, holding the jar up.

"Put those back!"

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an _experiment_." Sherlock stressed. Everyone could see that he was getting agitated. He was walking around, watching as the unit rifled through his things.

Lestrade stood up. "You know, you could start helping us."

"This is childish."

"Yeah well I'm dealing with a child."

Sherlock glared at both Lestrade and Harry when Harry snorted, not even bothering to mask it, and said: "Yeah, join the club."

From there, the wizard and the detective went back and forth. Lestrade would patronize Sherlock for going off on his own, then Sherlock would put in his own two cents. Their conversation ended with Sherlock and Lestrade showing each other their nicotine patches.

"Harry won't let me near a cigarette." Sherlock had said.

"Yeah, Mycroft thinks it's a disgusting habit." Lestrade had replied.

"Are they always like this?" John asked Harry. He received a shrug.

"For the most part, yeah. Its part of their weird not-friendship they have."

"Right…"

"So, we've found Rachel." The two wizards' attention was brought back to the men in front of them.

"Right, who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." John's heart went out for the poor girl. To loose her mother…

Sherlock, on the other hand, was confused. "Daughter…? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that." Anderson, ever the idiot, interrupted. "We found the case. According to _someone, _the murderer has the case. And we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson." Sherlock said in his you-are-an-idiot-and-I-shouldn't-waste-my-breath-talking-to-you tone. "I'm a high functioning sociopath, do your research." He turned back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in and you need to question her, I need to question her."

"She's dead."

John frowned and Harry bit his lip and when Sherlock went on, John's frown deepened. "Excellent. How long? And how? What's the connection? There has to be one."

"Well…I doubt it since she's been dead for fourteen years. _Technically_, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago"

"That's not right…why would she do that? Why would she, why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yeah, sociopath, I can see that now." Anderson said.

Sherlock turned. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor, with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt!"

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that ha makes them take it. Maybe, he-I don't know-talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

"That was ages ago!" Sherlock said, frustrated. "Why would she still be upset?" Whatever composure that Harry had had, he lost it. He let out a quiet sob and excused himself from the room. Lestrade looked uncomfortable, John astounded, and Sherlock…he actually looked a bit sorry.

"Not good?"

"A bit not good, yeah."

"Yeah, but John, if you were dying, what would you say in your last few seconds?"

"Please, god, let me live…"

"Oh, use your imagination."

"I don't have to." John told Sherlock that he was going to check on Harry and make sure that he was alright and that the detective should just help Lestrade.

When Harry left, he went to his and Sherlock's room. He gently laid Teddy out on the bed and then laid down next him. A tear or two slipped down his face, but he wouldn't let anymore fall, not when Lestrade's unit was here and John and Sherlock were down the hall. Not when Teddy was laying next to him, quiet, but still suffering from the affect that the full moon had on him. No he would wait until he was alone to grieve.

_Knock Knock_

"Harry?" John called from the other side of the door. "Harry, can I come in for a moment?"

"Um," Harry placed a quick glamour on his face so John wouldn't see the tear streaks. "Sure." John opened the door enough so he could slip inside and not let anyone see, offering privacy in case Harry was too upset. He came in and stood awkwardly until Harry patted the bed near him. Sitting didn't make John feel any better.

"Are…are you alright?"

"I'm fine John." _Lie._

"Well, it's just, everything that's had to do with babies has upset you since we got here. Well, not everything, but-"

Harry interrupted to save John from embarrassing himself any further. "John, I'm tired. It's been a really stressful day I just want to…to rest for a few minutes. On my own; okay?" It was absolute bullshit, but John didn't push Harry any further.

He stood up and walked out of the room.

Mrs. Hudson was in the doorway when John walked back. "Oh dear, they're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust." John said. Immediately, Mrs. Hudson's hand went to her hip and her eyes widened, alarmed.

"But they're just for my hip! They're herbal soothers-"

"Shut up! Just-Everybody shut up!" Sherlock yelled. "Don't move-don't speak-don't breath! I'm trying to think! Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off." After some arguing between Anderson and Lestrade (it more like Anderson whining like a child), Anderson turned to face the other direction. Mrs. Hudson tried to ask about the taxi waiting downstairs but Sherlock, as frustrated as he was, well at her and she scurried off. Finally-_finally_ Sherlock was able to think.

And _oh,_ what a glorious feeling it was. Suddenly, Rachel made sense. How could have not seen it before. Jennifer Wilson was certainly a clever woman.

"She never lost her phone…she planted it on him! And when she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone to lead us to her killer."

"But how?"

"What? What do you mean how?" Lestrade shrugged. "Rachel! Don't you see? _Rachel!_" No one seemed to understand the connection. Not like Sherlock could. "Look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is _not_ a name-"

"Then what is it?" John asked. He was at the point where he was going to scream at Sherlock (or smack him with his cane because he was _right there_ and he could just pretend that he was moving it, no one would say anything and he doubted that anyone would _really_ care.) if he didn't hurry up. They needed to catch a killer!

"John, on the luggage, there's an email address." The taller man went to the desk and typed in the email as John read it to him. She didn't have a laptop, so that means she did her business on her phone-it's a smart phone so its email enabled. There's a website for her account. Her user name is her email address and all together, her password is…"

"Rachel." John finished. He walked over to the desk and stared at the laptop over Sherlock's shoulder.

"So we get to read her emails. So what?" Anderson griped.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do a lot more than just read her emails. It's a smart phone-it's got GPS-which means if you loose it you can locate it online. She's going to lead us right to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it."

John turned around to look at the inspector. "No, we know he didn't."

The page wasn't loading and Sherlock was getting impatient. John watched as he tapped his hands against the wooden desk, then the younger wizard started tapping his feet, then his leg started bouncing. Honestly, couldn't this man wait a few seconds?

Mrs. Hudson came back up the stairs and asked about the taxi. Sherlock, as impatient as he was, welcomed the minor distraction from the computer. He got up and asked her (with the not so subtle implication to _go back downstairs Mrs. Hudson_) if she had taken her evening medication yet. He walked off and went to talk to Lestrade.

The page loaded. John sat in front of the computer and zoomed in so he could get an address. But…That couldn't have been right.

"Sherlock…"

"Where is it? Where?"

"It's here…it's in 221 Baker Street."

"How could it be here?" Everyone was confused. Sherlock looked around, trying to see if he had missed something. John tried to see if it was sitting anywhere, perhaps Sherlock had it and forgot about it? No, that wasn't possible.

Lestrade vocalized the same thing. Sherlock was aggravated. Did the man truly think that he was _that_ incompetent? Sherlock was _certainly_ _not_Anderson. No he was far more intelligent. He was perceptive…so what was he missing?

"We texted him and he called back." John told Lestrade. He remembered that from earlier so there was no way that Sherlock could have the phone. When Lestrade announced to his team that they were looking for a phone, John wanted to smack his forehead. Honestly, didn't he _just_ hear what John had said?

Sherlock on the other hand was thinking.

A man walked up the stairs, stopping behind Mrs. Hudson. _Someone we trust, even if we don't know them._

_Who passes, unnoticed in a crowd wherever they go?_

_Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?_

It all started making sense. The connection was getting clearer. All those people, all of the victims had to get from point A to point B. They wouldn't walk so…

His phone beeped. **_Come with me._**

The man behind Mrs. Hudson turned around and walked down the stairs, expecting Sherlock to follow.

**Cab Driver.**

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked. Not paying much attention, Sherlock told John that he was fine. "So how can the phone be here?"

"Dunno."

Sighing, John stood up. "I'll try it again."

"Good idea." With that, Sherlock started walking out of the flat.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Fresh air, just popping outside for a moment, won't be long." And then Sherlock was gone.

Harry came back out shortly after Sherlock left, leaving Teddy in his room since the baby had fallen asleep. He asked John where Sherlock was and wasn't too surprised to hear that he was no longer in the flat, or that he had gotten into a cab.

"All right every one, start packing up, there's nothing here." Lestrade called out to his team. There was a collective sigh throughout the group. Some people were happy to finally leave, others (namely Donovan and Anderson) were frustrated that they didn't get the chance to find anything. The detective walked over to Harry and John and gave Harry an apologetic pat on the shoulder. "Sorry, Mate. Had I remembered what day it was, we wouldn't have come." He said quietly.

John heard and raised an eyebrow. What did today have to do with anything?

"It's alright, Greg. Teddy's gone back to sleep."

"Don't you have a potion to help the poor kid out?"

Harry shook his head, sending loose strands of hair everywhere. "No. There's only one potion and it's meant for a full blooded…and anyways, it dangerous for even a regular full blooded infant. Draco thinks that if we give it to Teddy, he could die." Tears gathered in Harry's eyes again as the thought of another infant dying came to mind.

Greg understood, to some degree. He wrapped Harry in a short hug before saying good-bye to both wizards and running off to make sure that the rest of his team (Anderson) and equipment were out of the flat. He left not long after, saying: 'Remember Harry, he's a great man. Give him time, and he might just be a good one.'

"What was that all about?" John asked. He knew that there was something going on, something to do with Teddy (and another, totally different something that was going on with Harry) and he wanted to help.

Harry sent him a tight smile. "Teddy's sick John."

"With what? I'm a doctor, I can help-"

"Unless you're a genius at potions, you can't. It's a genetic sickness. His father had it and passed it onto Teddy. The only good thing is that he doesn't have it as bad as his father did."

"What disease does he have?"

For a moment, John thought that Harry was ignoring him. The younger man stared at the wall behind John, green eyes slightly unfocused and eyebrows scrunched together and lips pressed into a tight line. Then his eyes shifted to John. "What's your opinion on werewolves, John?"

Sherlock was not amused with this man. He knew now that this was the cabbie that stopped at Northumberland street, this was the killer (only he didn't kill them, they killed themselves). But the imbecile goaded him into getting into the cab with him-really, Sherlock only left for the purpose of getting more information.

The cabbie mentioned something about a fan, but he didn't offer anything more. Sherlock was more than annoyed with this man.

"Werewolves? Harry, first off, I'm a doctor. Secondly, I'm a muggleborn. I didn't grow up in the wizarding world, so to me everyone is equal. I just don't _do_ prejudice. " Harry smiled slightly, satisfied with the answer.

"Teddy's father was a werewolf. He was bitten as a child." Here, John let out a mortified noise. Harry nodded in agreement. "I know, it was Fenrir Greyback. That bastard's dead, thank Merlin. But, even though he was a werewolf, Remus was a great man. He always denied himself a family because he didn't want to burden his wife or damn his children. Then he met Tonks and, well, the rest is history. They died in the war; Teddy was only about a month old when they died. I've-_We've_ had him since. They never really got to experience the full moon with him. He's only half werewolf, so he doesn't change, but John…he's in so much _pain_. I want to help him, I really do, but the only way to help is to create an entirely new wolfsbane potion. My friend Draco is working on it, he has been since the war ended, but he needs help."

"Sherlock's." John assumed.

"Yes, but he's being so fucking _stubborn_!" John chuckled at the outburst, but smothered it when Harry glared at him. "Yeah-yeah, laugh it up Doctor Watson. Just keep in mind, the longer he waits, the longer we have to deal with a baby being basically tortured once a month." The mention of Teddy being tortured made John's heart break a little. The tiny, adorable baby with the color changing eyes didn't deserve that. It also overpowered the fact that John's heart had skipped a beat when Harry had said that they would be taking care of the baby, as in _together_ (because really, it meant nothing, okay? John wasn't gay at all. Nope).

"Err, right. You know, I think I'm going to try and locate the phone again, then I'll head back to my place." He went back over to the laptop and refreshed the search. As he waited he went around the room and gathered his things. He was back to using his cane as he walked.

"You know, you're more than welcome to stay the night, John. I can transfigure a bed for you until we move your things in." John thanked him, but declined the offer. He wanted to go home and pack what little belongings he had.

_**BEEP**_

Harry and John walked over to the computer and looked to see where the phone was.

"That's…impossible." John said, making Harry frown.

"Why? Where was it before?"

"It was here."

"But, the killer has the phone…so that means he was here."

"Oh…sweet…Merlin." John grabbed his coat and laptop and started to walk out of the flat.

"John, John wait! Where are you going?!"

"I'm going after Sherlock!" Harry went to get his coat, but John stopped him. "No, you stay here with Teddy, in case he wakes up again."

"But-"

"-No. Stay. I'll bring him back Harry, and then you can yell at him for leaving." Harry was reluctant, but he agreed to stay behind. It was irritating that John insisted that he stay, but he understood. John wasn't doing it to be mean, it was for Teddy, because of the full moon.

"Fine. Go."

And go John did. As he ran down the stairs, Harry eyed the cane that leaned innocently against the desk.

Sherlock and the Cabbie walked into a dark classroom. The cabbie asked for Sherlock's approval, because the wizard was going to die there after all. The least the cabbie do was make sure that it was acceptable. Sherlock looked at the man, eyebrow raised and told him that he was not going to die.

"That's what they all say."

They sat at one of the long tables, facing each other, and talked.

Well, talked is putting it lightly. It wasn't peaceful because of the two tiny bottles with pills sitting in between them, being the subject of their 'conversation'. The cabbie wanted Sherlock to play his little game of chance…too bad the wizard wasn't interested.

No, Sherlock sat there and deduced and listened. And honestly, he wasn't impressed. This 'genius' in front of him was nothing more than average man of average intelligence. Of course, Sherlock's bitterness to the man may or may not have stemmed from the fact that he had called Sherlock stupid.

The moment that John was dropped off at the college, he ran, trying to find the missing wizard. He ran into the first building that he saw and prayed that he wasn't too late.

Fed up with the muggle, Sherlock took the lead of their little 'game'. He went into what Harry affectionately called 'show off mode'. He went on about how the cabbie's wife had left him a while ago, and had taken his children with her, about how even though the cabbie doesn't get to see his children, he still thinks about them, about how the cabbie was dying. After the cabbie explained that he had an aneurism in his brain, the wizard kept going. He explained how the cabbie wasn't killing because of some desire to outlive as many people as possible or for fun. No, he was doing it out of love, for his children.

"When I die, I won't give much to my kids. Not a lot of money comes from driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me." Sherlock said.

"I have a sponsor." Well…that was certainly…new. "For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see, it's nicer than you think."

"And who would be the sponsor of a serial killer?"

"He'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes." From there, they talked about Sherlock's 'fan'. Without directly saying his name of course, which irritated Sherlock to no end.

"All right, enough of this. It's time to choose."

Harry paced in the kitchen, waiting for someone-anyone to call and let him know that Sherlock and John were alright. He had gotten a call moments before from Greg, but he was only letting him know that he was going after the two men.

Now, he had to wait.

On the table, his phone rang. It was some piece of classical music that Sherlock downloaded onto his phone that sounded positively evil.

_**Mycroft**_.

He picked up the phone and greeted the older man. "Hello Mycroft. What can I do for you?"

"My brother and that new flat-mate of yours are fine you know."

Harry smiled. "I can't help but worry, though. You know that."

"Likewise. Despite what Sherlock might think, he's still my brother. I'm on my way there now."

"Oh dear, well we'll know if Sherlock's been harmed in any way if he doesn't run or argue with you the moment he sees you." Harry said, chuckling a little to ease his nerves.

"Yes. I must go now, Harry."

"Alright. Don't forget, we're all having dinner next weekend. I've already told Greg, so you can't weasel your way out of it."

"Harry, I'm offended that you would imply such a thing." Mycroft said in a mock-scandalized tone.

Harry laughed, said his good-bye, and hung up. He felt so much better.

John was worried. He couldn't find Sherlock in this giant place, and he feared that with Sherlock alone with the serial killer that he may have already been too late.

Sherlock was used to having guns pointed at his face, it comes with the job. He's seen many different types, studied them to the point where he knew without a doubt what was a real gun and what was a fake.

The gun that the cabbie was pointing at his face was _definitely_ fake. When he was offered the pill or a shot to the head…well it wasn't a hard decision.

"I'll have the gun please."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun."

"You don't want to phone a friend?" Sherlock could see that the cabbie knew he was caught. Sherlock knew that the gun was a fake and that by choosing the gun option, he would walk out of there and the authorities would apprehend the cabbie.

"The. Gun."

The trigger was pulled back, and a small, almost pathetic flame shot out. Sherlock smirked. "Well, this has been very…interesting. I look forward to the court case." He said as he stood up and walked away.

The cabbie turned in his seat. "Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which one's the good bottle?" Sherlock stopped.

"Of course. Child's play." The cabbie motion towards the bottles.

"Oh? Well which one is it then? Which one would you have picked so I can know whether or not I could have beaten you?" That did it. Sherlock turned around, determined to win, and grabbed a bottle. "Ooh, interesting."

They opened the bottles and emptied the pills onto their hands. "So what do you think? Shall we?"

John had a good feeling about the room at the end of the hall. Sherlock had to be in there, he just knew it. He had taken out his wand a while back and used a point me spell, it was pointing to the door at the end of the hall. He opened the doors and…nothing. It was as empty as the rest of the rooms. He was about to leave the room hen something caught his eye. There, in the building directly across from him, was Sherlock and the killer. They were about to…

No.

_NO!_

"SHERLOCK!" He yelled.

Sherlock couldn't be stupid enough to ingest the pill! He knew that he would die! John would _not_ let that happen. He promised Harry that he would bring the other man home with him.

He reached for his gun. He couldn't use his wand without getting into some serious shit with the Ministry. There was no way that he was letting the killer go now. Aiming with military precision, he fired.

The shot startled Sherlock so much that he jumped and dropped the pill that was in his hand. He maneuvered his way to the window to try and get a look at the cabbie's killer.

There was no one there. Just two bullet holes through the glass windows, one in front of him and the other on the building that was across from him.

The cabbie coughed and wheezed from where he had fallen on the ground. Sherlock grabbed the pill that he had chosen and put it close to the cabbie's face. "Was I right? I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?!" The cabbie just smirked and turned his head. Sherlock, frustrated, threw the pill at the man. He wouldn't get an answer out of him and he knew it. Perhaps he would tell him something else though. "Okay, tell me this. Your sponsor, who was it? My fan? I want a name." The cabbie refused. "You're dying, but there's still time to make you suffer." The wizard pressed his foot against the wound, almost relishing in the screams that came out of the muggle (no, he was not an idiotic blood supremacist; this man was scum and deserved every ounce of pain). "A NAME!"

"M-MORIARTY!"

It was the cabbie's final words, and though it was a name, it didn't clear anything up for Sherlock. He silently repeated the name and went through his mind palace to see if he had anything about a Moriarty.

Nothing.

Later, Sherlock was sitting on the back of an ambulance as Lestrade and his team went around doing their business. Several times the EMT would drape a blanket around his shoulders, and every time Sherlock would shrug it off.

Finally, Lestrade made his way over to where Sherlock was. "Why have I got this blanket?" Sherlock asked, confused. "They keep putting this blanket on me."

"It's for shock."

"I'm not in shock."

"Yeah…but some of the guys want to take photographs." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So the shooter…no sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here. We could follow him, I suppose, but we've got nothing to go on."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, and then he went off. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. The bullet that they dug out was from a hand gun, kill shot over that distance with that kind of weapon, we're looking for a practiced shot. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly, he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man, probably with a history with military service," Here, his gaze shifted and landed on John and…when had he gotten there? "And…nerves of steel," John looked away and it clicked. Oh, John had killed the cabbie…well that sure was something. "You know what…ignore me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ignore everything that I just said. It's the uh…the shock talking." He walked off, or tired to anyway, Lestrade interrupted him when all he wanted to do was go and talk to John.

"I've still got questions!"

"Oh what now? I'm in shock, look, I've got a blanket!"

"Sherlock!"

"_And_ I just caught your serial killer. More or less." Reluctantly, Lestrade let him go, telling him that they'd continue the next day. He also made him promise to hurry on home because the last thing that Lestrade wanted to deal with was a pissed off Harry.

Sherlock nodded, only vaguely listening to the inspector as he walked over to his new flat-mate.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan has been explaining everything. Two pills? Dreadful it is. Just dreadful."

"Good shot."

"Yes, yes it was a very good shot. Must have been, through that window."

"Well you would know." Sherlock quietly pointed out all of the details that showed that John had actually been the one to shoot the killer. He also told John to avoid the court case, even though John wouldn't get into much (if any at all) trouble. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright."

"You did just kill a man."

"True, but he wasn't a very nice man." Sherlock accepted the answer. John hardly seemed fazed and if he was fine with it, Sherlock wouldn't push.

"Yes."

"And frankly, he was a terrible cabbie." Sherlock grinned. They started to walk off, preferably to find a secluded place so they could apparate back to 221B.

"Yeah that's true, you should have seen the route he took to get here." Sherlock and John laughed. They caught the attention of the cops around them, which earned them a disapproving stare or two. John's chuckles faded and he hushed his friend(?).

"We can't giggle, this is a crime scene, stop it."

"Well, you're the one who shot him, don't mind me."

Donovan walked by them and they stopped talking about the incident until she passed.

Something bothered John. Something he couldn't figure out. "You were going to take that damned pill, weren't you?"

"Of course I wasn't. Biding my time, you turn up…" Sherlock trailed off, looking smug.

"What, are you kidding? That's how you get your kicks isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot." They grinned at each other.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."

"Good, we'll head back to 221B and order take-away. Oh, and don't tell Harry about the pill. He won't react well."

"Sure sure."

As they went to find a good place to apparate, John noticed a man stepping out of a dark car. "Uh, Sherlock, that's him. That's the man from earlier."

"Oh I know exactly who that is." They turned and took a few steps nearer to the strange man and his car.

"So, another case cracked by Sherlock Holmes. How very public spirited." The man said. "Though, that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you. So was Harry."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern."

The man laughed. "Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no." Sherlock replied sarcastically, making the man roll his eyes.

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is so childish, Sherlock. People will suffer. And you know how it upsets Mummy."

John blinked once, and then twice. Mummy? What the hell?

"I upset her?" Sherlock asked in mock-shock. "Me?" He said in a way that must have implied a lot from the way that the man shifted. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"Now hang on," John interrupted. "Wait…Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother, our mother." Sherlock said. "This is my brother, Mycroft." The man-Mycroft (Sherlock's brother!), looked at John with a raised eyebrow. "Putting on weight again Mycroft?"

"Loosing it, in fact."

John still couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing. "He's your brother?" He asked the younger (was Sherlock younger? He certainly looked younger.) Holmes man.

"Of course he's my brother."

"So he's not…" John didn't know how to voice his thoughts. Mycroft and Sherlock both looked at him in confusion. "Umm, I don't know…a criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough."

"Oh for goodness sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government-"

"-Both Magical and Muggle, Mycroft. And Don't listen to him John, he practically is the British Government. That is when he's not too busy being the secret service, the CIA, the magical ambassador, good evening Mycroft. I have a distressed wizard at home that I need to console, so please, try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic."

"As if you'd be travelling by muggle means." Sherlock ignored him and walked off. John started to follow, but stopped and looked at Mycroft.

"Hang on, so when you say you're concerned about him, you really mean that you're actually concerned?"

"Yes, of course."

"So, this actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful even after all I do for him, you can imagine the Christmas dinners." Mycroft watched his brother's retreating form as he spoke. John watched too, and absently agreed (he was not ogling the man, despite how handsome he may or may not have been!).

"Wait…no…god no. I…umm…better go. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Doctor Watson."

The moment that they apparated into the flat, the two men were pulled into an awkward three-way hug. Harry held them tightly for a few moments before he pulled back to let them breathe.

"Thank Merlin you two are alright! What happened?"

Sherlock shrugged. He slowly took off his scarf and coat and placed them onto his chair. Harry's eyebrow twitched. "Oh, you know, the usual. The killer tried to get me. But, luckily, I had John there. He shot the man before anything could happen." Harry turned to John and gave him another hug.

"Thank you for protecting him, John." He said quietly.

Tentatively, John hugged back. Despite what he had told Sherlock earlier, he had just killed a man. He may have been a bad man, but John saved lives, or did his best to anyway. Taking a life twisted something inside him.

Harry seemed to understand. He squeezed harder and then loosened his grip and took a step back. "Well, now that that's over with, you two must be starving."

John smiled. "Yeah, Sherlock said something about take-away?"

"We were thinking Chinese. What do you think, Harry?"

"I think it's a great idea! I'll go get a menu."

As he walked off to the kitchen, Sherlock looked over at John and grinned. Thinking that Harry was out of hearing distance, he said: "It'll be much better than that pill, any way."

"WHAT WAS THAT SHERLOCK HOLMES?!" Harry came back into the room, furiously glaring at his lover.

John raised his hands as if to say 'hey-I-wasn't-the-one-who-said-it' and when Sherlock looked to him for help he said: "You're on your own, mate."


	4. Interlude I

**AN: Warnings for this chapter include mentions of underage sex, mentions/implications of abortions, mentions/implication of miscarriage, mentions of drug use.**

John decided that he did not, in any way shape or form, enjoy moving. It wasn't like he had a lot of stuff to move, a few shrinking spells here, a feather-light charm there and all of his belongings fit into his old Hogwarts trunk. It was the process itself that was so exhausting.

After hours upon hours of sorting through what he wanted to keep, and what he wanted to give away (honestly, where did most of this stuff come from?), shrinking, storing and cleaning, he was finally ready to pocket his shrunken trunk and go to 221B.

Big mistake.

He had taken a cab, too tired to apparate, and Mrs. Hudson had met him at the front door.

"Oh, hello John, dear." She said sweetly, albeit tiredly.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson. Everything alright?"

The older woman shook her head. "Sadly, no. Harry and Sherlock are having another domestic."

Oh…that couldn't be good. "I'll go see if I can get them to calm down." John said with a smile. As he started going up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson called out to him: "Oh, I wouldn't go up there, dear. It's dangerous when they fight."

John should have listened.

"What do you have against Teddy, Sherlock?!" John heard Harry yell.

"Everything!"

"SHERLOCK! He's just a baby! He's _our_ _son_ now and-"

"HE IS NOT MY SON! STOP MAKING ME PRETEND HE IS!" Something in the room, something glass, exploded. Cautiously, John hurried up the last few steps.

When John had first seen the flat, it had been a mess. This…this was insanity. Papers were lying everywhere, glass shards littered the floor, wood splinters were imbedded in the walls, there were scorch marks on the ceiling, and a chair was on fire.

…A chair…on fire…

Like he said before, insanity.

The only good thing was that Teddy was nowhere to be seen. John assumed that he was tucked away in his nursery, silencing charms protecting him from listening to his parents (as if Sherlock would even _want_ to be called that) arguing.

Harry's eyes hardened and John could see the warrior that was hidden inside him. Honestly, he was a little terrified. "Sherlock Holmes," Harry said in a low, eerily calm voice. "If this has anything to do with Teddy being a werewolf, you need to tell me. _**Now**_. In fact, you should have told me when I first brought Teddy home!"

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Sherlock groaned. "This has nothing to do with Theodore being a werewolf!"

"THEN WHAT IS THIS ABOUT SHERLOCK?!" The older wizard didn't say anything. He was determined to have a staring contest (read: glare at each other until one of them gives up) with Harry.

"Are you going to stand there all day, John?" Sherlock asked without breaking eye contact.

John shouldn't have been surprised. He really shouldn't have, but when Sherlock's eyes flicked in his direction and Harry turned around to face him he was completely shocked. He didn't think that he would ever understand how Sherlock did the things that he did.

"Hello John." Harry said in a tense voice.

"Umm. Hi Harry. Hello Sherlock. I umm…"

"Oh please John. If you say that you didn't hear anything I will hex you. You've been standing in the doorway for at least five minutes." John's face flushed. He had been caught staring since he had gotten up the stairs and it made him feel extremely awkward about himself. Like he was a mix between a voyeur and a kid who's hand was caught in the cookie jar. Awkward.

"John, can you go downstairs or to your room while Sherlock and I finish up?" Harry asked.

"Now _dear_, John is a grown wizard. I'm sure he's seen couples fight before. Stay, John."

"The only reason you want him to stay is because you know that I won't argue with you in front of him." Harry glared accusingly at his lover.

Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of them crossing the argument/mortal combat line once wands were drawn which earned him another glare. "All the more reason for John to stay."

"SHERLOCK! We are not putting this off again because you don't want to talk about it!"

John shifted uncomfortably. "I can go…"

"Please, John. We won't be long."

"Don't worry, John. I'll save you the trouble." They spoke at the same time, but when they finished speaking, Sherlock apparated out of the flat. Harry stood there looking so angry and hurt that John had to restrain himself from running over to him and comforting him.

Big, watery green eyes turned to John and Harry asked him in a broken voice: "Why? Why does he hate Teddy? Why, John?" That was the breaking point. John rushed over and wrapped an arm around the young wizard's shoulder as he silently wept.

Harry dropped his wand, it made a small clunking noise as it hit the floor, and pressed his hands to his eyes. Briefly John's eyes went to the fallen wand and it wouldn't be until later, when he would be alone in his room that he would contemplate the four small notches that went around the handle.

Harry stayed up in his room all day. No matter how long John or Mrs. Hudson stayed outside the door, asking him to come out and eat, he stayed inside. Eventually, they gave up. Mrs. Hudson made him tea and a bowl of soup ('Because Harry's locked away, dear. So, just this once. I'm not your housekeeper!") for an early dinner.

Now, hours later, John was sprawled out on his bed typing away on his laptop. He wasn't typing anything important, just writing a few poems to pass the time.

Honestly? He was completely bored. So he stopped and thought about everything that had happened during the day. Moving, Sherlock and Harry's fight, Sherlock leaving, Harry crying. It had been an emotionally taxing day.

Notches.

It was so utterly random that it made John freeze. He remembered seeing the notches on Harry's wand and, though he had pushed them to the back of his mind, he had been curious. The notches weren't simple scratches that come from being dropped or constant use. They were deliberate. Deep enough to differentiate them from the other scratches, shallow enough to stay away from the core.

What did they mean though?

"He tends to forget that I notice everything, John."

John jumped, nearly falling off the side of his bed. "OH SWEET MERLIN! SHERLOCK!" In the corner of his room, Sherlock stood. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest and head looking up at the ceiling. He looked…tired. He hadn't been there all day, had he? "Sorry, but what the hell are you doing in here and what are you talking about?"

Sherlock looked at him and glared. "You know exactly what I'm talking about John, don't ask stupid questions."

"Still doesn't answer my first question." John said under his breath.

Disregarding the comment, the younger wizard crossed the room and laid down next to John on the bed, hands clasped together underneath his head. "Oh sure Sherlock, sit down why don't you? Make yourself comfortable."

The sarcasm didn't phase Sherlock. He rolled his eyes, but never looked anywhere other than the ceiling. "You want to know about the notches, don't you?" John nodded. How Sherlock could see it, he would never know, but he did and started a very long-and slightly disturbing story.

"Harry and I have been together for years. It started with Mycroft working to switch his magical guardian, but it changed into something completely different…" He went on explaining how they had starting having intercourse (with FAR too much detail, in John's opinion. He wouldn't be able to look at Harry the same way for a long time) right before Harry started his fourth year at school. "At the time, my judgment had been slightly impaired due to certain recreational drugs I was using, and the sounds that came from the bathroom were just so-"

"-SHERLOCK! _RELEVANCE_?!" John's face was redder than a tomato. Honestly! Didn't this man have any dignity?! John did not want to hear about his sexual escapades with a fourteen year old!

"Yes, actually, it is extremely relevant. Oh stop looking at me like that. Fine, I'll spare you the details. It only happened once; before you delude yourself into thinking that I had somehow turned Harry into my personal sex-slave. Three weeks into the school year I received a letter from Harry that said that he was constantly nauseated. I told him ginger tea and crackers should fix that. One week later, I received another letter that said while the tea and crackers helped, he was still nauseated and so what do you think I told him?"

"To go to the infirmary." John stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He wasn't a complete idiot, regardless of what the other wizard might have thought.

"Exactly. Two days later he owled me, telling me that the matron gave him a potion and that he was better within hours." John frowned. "Ah, so you've caught on."

"Legally, she shouldn't have been allowed to give Harry anything unless you, his magical guardian, allowed her to. Did you fill out the paperwork?" Sherlock shook his head 'no'. "The she should have contacted you before she gave him anything."

"But she didn't. Mycroft and I looked into it and we found out that she was under a very heavy memory charm. She didn't even remember Harry coming in to see her." Sherlock went on with the story, explaining that-at first, because Sherlock Holmes _always_ solves his cases- they couldn't find what potion had been given to Harry and the only thing Harry remembered was that the potion made him want to throw up…but a lot of potions did that. Add onto that the fact that Harry hates every potion and it gets more complicated.

And then Sherlock went back to talking about sex. Really?! John did not want to hear about this! Granted, Sherlock did not go into as much detail as he did before, but he john the amount of times they had sex after Harry's fifteenth birthday and the various…places. Why-_WHY_ was this important?!

Then Sherlock said something that made 'Dr. John Watson' take over. "He said his _food_ tasted funny?" Perhaps he should have been paying attention.

The taller man shook his head. "_No_ John, weren't you listening? I said it was his drink. Honestly John, think about it logically. In a house filled with a dozen people, how do you drug one person's food without a) drugging all of the food, or b) pre-serving the food so it's already on said person's plate?"

"So how did his drink get drugged? Wasn't it just an empty cup sitting at the table?" Sherlock groaned, muttering: 'muggleborns.'

"_No_, John, it wasn't just an empty glass at the table. There was a house-elf in charge of the drinks. And the house elf was obviously under orders."

"So the house elf drugged Harry's drink…did you get samples?"

John watched as Sherlock tugged at his hair, groaning. "No! The morons banished his cup and got him a new one before I could do anything! But one sip was enough, apparently."

"So, what, every time he took the potion he put a notch on his wand? That makes no sense."

"It makes no sense because that is an idiotic suggestion. No he did not put a notch on his wand because of the potion. He was only administered the potion once more."

That didn't make sense. "But there were four notches."

"Exactly." Sherlock told him that the third notch came from an incident that happened right after the Yule break in Harry's fifth year. It was potions class. The fumes were toxic to him in his condition and he passed out. By the time he had been taken to the infirmary, the damage had been done. "That school was filled with incompetent idiots!" There was something about Sherlock's tone, not quite painful, but not his usual tone of arrogance or boredom either.

John was about to ask if the notches were all correlated with potions incidents when he-unfortunately-remembered Sherlock's descriptions of his sexual encounters with Harry. The nausea, the potion fumes, the potion that made the nausea stop after a few hours…"Oh sweet Merlin, you mean...?" He breathed, realizing with no small amount of horror what those four tiny notches meant.

The other man nodded, silently confirming John's fears. "Severus Snape was one of the few people that Mycroft called friend. During the potions incident, he performed the procedural medical scan. Harry was almost three weeks pregnant with _my_ child John. Severus told Mycroft, who later told me-and I must say, my brother was absolutely delighted to slander the dear headmaster's name, but that's a wonderful story for another day-and less than I day later I received a letter from Harry. He didn't tell me about the baby, just said that he was in an accident, but he was fine."

John had yet to see Sherlock get so…emotional about anything. He claimed to be a sociopath, and John could definitely see that, but he could also see that the man genuinely cared for Harry and their lost children. The med-wizard wonder what must have been running through Sherlock's head when Harry didn't tell him about the child.

For almost an hour they talked. Sherlock explained that had found the potion-Dumbledore had been behind it, unsurprisingly-and Mycroft had gotten almost eight three percent of the Ministry against Dumbledore. Harry had never outright told Sherlock that he was ever pregnant, but the final time that it happened, Sherlock had just _known_. "Spells, charms, special potions, and it was all ruined because of his dim-witted Weasley friend!" He shouted angrily. John wondered if there was a silencing charm around his room. He wasn't sure how Harry would react to overhearing them.

Actually, now that he thought about it, they probably shouldn't be having this conversation at all!

"It's too late to go back now, John. If you were uncomfortable having this conversation you would have stopped me before." How did he…? "Oh please, your face says it all." Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

Clearing his throat, John shifted on the bed. "Well, regardless, I think we should stop having this conversation."

Though he obviously didn't agree, Sherlock nodded nonetheless and stood up. "Very well John. Good night. Oh, and I trust our conversation will remain between us." There was a small nod of acknowledgement, even though they both understood that neither party would say anything about their conversation.

Just moments before Sherlock's hand touched the doorknob, John spoke up. "Sherlock, why do you hate Teddy? I mean this is your chance to finally have a family. A family with _Harry_." The wizard froze for no more than a second. John was disappointed to watch him leave the room like he had not even heard the question.

John would not be able to sleep that night.

The next morning, John would walk into the kitchen with dark purple circles under his eyes. Harry's back would be to him as he cooked breakfast at the stove. He sits near Teddy-the baby happily sucking on a dummy in his swing as he watches his father's back-and say his good mornings to him and to Harry. Teddy will look at him and his hair will flicker to the same sandy shade of blonde as John, but his eyes will remain bright green.

Harry would turn around and the food will be forgotten. He will fret over John, asking if he's alright and if he needs anything but John will only smile and tell him: 'no thank you, Harry. I'm fine.' in a tired voice. Harry won't believe him, but won't pressure him either. He will take the seat next to John and they will sit in silence. John wants to wrap him in another hug (purely platonic), tell him he's so-so sorry and that everything will be alright, even if he doesn't believe his own words. He doesn't.

Sherlock will rush into the kitchen-hair and clothes from yesterday in disarray after spending the night on the couch-shortly after because whatever was on the stove has burned. He will banish it with a flick of his wrist. He will bitch and moan about the loss of good food and John and Harry will laugh at him, even thought Harry's laugh is obviously strained.

Teddy will see Sherlock and his hair goes black. The baby's eyes turn the same blue/gray as Sherlock and he will wiggle and fuss for the man to pick him up. Sherlock doesn't, but for the first time he walks over and smoothes his hand over soft hair.

It's not perfect, in fact it's completely awkward because Sherlock doesn't know if he's applying too much pressure, but it's a start.


End file.
